


Wanderings of the Itinerant Non-Dead

by indiefic



Category: The Bone Season - Samantha Shannon
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-17 21:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3544430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiefic/pseuds/indiefic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers through The Mime Order.  Set about half a year after the events of The Mime Order.  Total AU (probably crack!fic).  The veils, and pretty much everything else, have been destroyed in Warden and Dr. Nygard's world.  But a series of unexpected events has made the impossible possible, even for the doomed pair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Itinerant Non-Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Samantha Shannon has stated that the Bone Season series is intended to span 7 books. She's also said that she doesn't want anyone to be able to guess the final outcome. So ... I assume that the first two books have to contain some level of misdirection and that the Bone Season universe will change dramatically as the series progresses.
> 
> This story is an Alternate Universe set after the events of The Mime Order. It contains spoilers for all of The Bone Season and The Mime Order. It also contains a ton of wild speculation and general crack!fic-ness.
> 
> You have been warned.

“Dr. Nygard.”  Warden looked over his shoulder.  The good doctor glanced up, but only for a moment, before carefully picking his way through the rubble.  Warden watched as he slowly ascended the mound.  When he reached the top, he stopped and stared blankly out across the landscape.  It was desolate, barren, an odd sensation, especially for two sighted creatures such as himself and Dr. Nygard who were accustomed to seeing spirits teeming everywhere.

 

“Nothing,” Dr. Nygard said quietly.  “More ... nothing.”

 

“So it would seem,” Warden replied quietly.

 

Dr. Nygard shook his head and sank to his haunches, squatting in the rubble.  He untied his cravat and flicked it several times to air it before using it to wipe his face.  “It’s done, isn’t it,” he said bleakly.  “This world.  It’s just ... _done_.”

 

Warden surveyed the scene.  This had once been the heart of a city, south of the citadel.  Now it was a ruin, gutted and barren, the sky overhead scarred and burned.  London was much the same.  From reports of the few remaining Ranthen who still lived, the whole of England was like this and if the rest of the world wasn’t yet, it would soon be.  There was no stopping it.  “So it would seem.”

 

Dr. Nygard stood.  “Why are we still here?” he asked.  “Why can’t we be done too?  At least we could be with them.”

 

Warden stood there, all too aware of the hollow pit in his chest.  “With the veils destroyed, I am not sure that is possible,” he said.  “I do not know that our spirits could reach the final rest.  It is likely they would not.”

 

Dr. Nygard laughed, a hysterical, mirthless sound.  “So that’s just it,” he raged.  “No Zeke?  No Paige? No Ognega?  No Cass?”  He yelled, a raw sound of pure agony.  He clutched his head in his hands, sobbing harshly.  “No Karolina.”  He took a deep breath.  “Jax used to say there was no hell, but he was wrong.  We found it.  We found hell.  We _made_ it.”

 

Warden remained mute.  He couldn’t fault Dr. Nygard’s logic.  It was gone.  Everything was gone.  The Netherworld was a tattered wasteland, even worse than what remained of Scion’s empire.  The amaranth was all wilted and scattered to dust.  It would never bloom again.  The veils between the worlds had been torn asunder and with them, almost all life, human, Rephaim and spirit.  There was a handful of stragglers, but no more.  No hope of re-population.  No hope of overcoming.  No hope of fixing things.

 

Warden was lost in this new world.  Any sentient creature would be lost.  But Dr. Nygard, whose role had always been of healer and caretaker, was especially lost.  There was no one to heal, no one to care for.  Pain and bitterness rested uneasily on Dr. Nygard’s shoulders, but his grief was so profound there was little room for anything else.

 

“Come, Doctor,” he said quietly.  “We must find shelter before nightfall.”

 

* * *

The small fire did little to warm them, but Warden still found some tiny bit of comfort in watching the flames.  He could remember a time before, a time in the shadowed halls of Magdalen, evenings spent coaxing conversation from his reluctant ward.  Memories of another life, now long past.  Memories that would die with him and be lost to time.

 

He glanced over at Dr. Nygard, who slept a fitful, drugged sleep in a tattered old sleeping bag, emblazoned with Scion’s anchor.  There was shockingly little consolation in knowing that Scion was gone.  There was even less in knowing the Sargas were no more.  

 

Warden spent so much of his eternal existence trying to end the Sargas and as it turned out, it didn’t matter.  The Sargas accomplished their goal, they tore down the veils and with it, they unleashed hell.  They were their own undoing, victims of their own hubris.  History, the humans said, went to the victors.  But what use was that to him when there would be no one to read the history?

 

Arcturus, Warden of the Mesarthim would exist.  He would exist, at least, until Dr. Nygard was no more.  Warden had promised Paige as much, and he would keep that promise if it was the last thing he ever did.  Truthfully, he did not know how much longer Dr. Nygard could go on.  It had been barely six months.  Six months since Paige was killed, and with her, the amaranth.  It had been slightly less time since Ezekiel was murdered.  Warden still didn’t know which death had wounded Dr. Nygard more profoundly.  Surely they were both mortal wounds, the loss of his family and his lover.  

 

Paige’s death had been a crushing blow, both to them personally, and also to their cause.  Overnight, the amaranth died and with it, the revolution. The Ranthen faltered and scattered.  Some were murdered and those who survived fell, just as the Sargas and their supporters.  All dead.

 

And then Ezekiel -   Both Paige and Dr. Nygard had disowned Jaxon Hall after his actions following the scrimmage, but Warden knew they both still held out hope for their former mentor.  Warden was glad Paige had been spared seeing the true depths of Jaxon Hall’s evil.  Dr. Nygard, however, hadn’t been so lucky.  He lost his lover at the hands of his former mentor, as Jaxon Hall attempted to follow in Nashira’s footsteps and murder Ezekiel in order to steal his gifts.  Jaxon had succeeded, however briefly.  Until Nadine, poor forgotten whisperer Nadine, avenged her brother’s murder by burying an ax in Jaxon Hall’s skull.  A fitting death for a former mime-lord.

 

* * *

Warden handed Dr. Nygard the canteen, which he took with a groan.  Warden watched as he dug more pills out of his satchel, downing them by the handful.  

 

“Where are we going, anyway?”

 

“I believe this used to be Crawley,” Warden replied.  “We still need to venture farther south.”

 

Dr. Nygard shook his head, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.  “For what?”

 

“Poppies.”

 

Dr. Nygard narrowed his gaze.  “Why?”

 

“Oh, I suspect you can figure that out,” Warden replied.  “There were poppy fields, grown by Rackham’s associates.  I believe you first met Paige in one of them.”

 

Dr. Nygard laughed hollowly.  “So you’re going to walk me back there so you can find something to off yourself with?”

 

“Yes,” Warden replied flatly.  “Are you suggesting that you are doing anything differently with the copious amounts of Scimorphine you are ingesting?”

 

Dr. Nygard shrugged.  “I suppose not,” he said.  “But I need you around to say the threnody when I kick off.”

 

Warden nodded.  “Yes.  Though as I have said, I do not know that it will make any difference.  I am not sure either of us can reach our final rest.”

 

“Yeah, well, fucking try, okay,” Dr. Nygard snapped.  “I’d rather not be hanging around this wasteland for eternity.”

 

“I will do as much as I can, Dr. Nygard,” he replied.  “That is what I promised Paige.”

 

Dr. Nygard stared down at the ground for a long time and then looked back to Warden.  “Did she?  Was she in a lot of pain?”

 

Warden forced himself to meet Dr. Nygard’s gaze.  They had never spoken of this, not once in all their time together.  “By the time I arrived, the medics had done what they could, they had her heavily sedated.”  Warden took a deep breath and released it slowly.  “She was ... lucid.  She made me promise to watch over you.”  

 

He spared Dr. Nygard the details, that Paige’s body had been horribly mangled, broken like a forgotten toy.  She had been blinded.  Her voice was a bare whisper and she had been unable to squeeze his hand as he held her.  The pain of the golden cord snapping had been agony.

 

Dr. Nygard scrubbed his hand over his face.  “That sounds just like Paige,” he said.  “Dying and she’s still worried about everyone else.”

 

Warden nodded. Just that morning, he had held her, loved her, watched her as she smiled in the soft sunlight.  A stolen moment, one of so very few.  And mere hours later, she met her end.  He couldn’t remember why it had been so important to hide their relationship.  It all seemed so pointless in retrospect.

 

“You spoke the threnody, right?” Dr. Nygard asked.  “I mean _you_ spoke it.”

 

“I did,” Warden said quietly.  Dr. Nygard knew the words had been said, but up to this point, he had never asked who said them.

 

“I’m glad,” Dr. Nygard said quietly.  “I’m glad it was you.  I’m glad you got to say goodbye.  I don’t know, exactly, what was between you two.  But I know she cared about you.  And I know you cared about her.  Even if you do seem like a cold bastard.”

 

* * *

“What is this?” Dr. Nygard yelled, drawing his hood up around his face for protection.  

 

Warden shielded his face with his arm and grabbed Dr. Nygard’s shoulder, dragging him toward the shelter of a deserted building.  They were in what had once been a meadow, on a slanted, cobbled hill.  The building was squat with a low sloped roof that covered most of the windows.  The wind had whipped up and with it, some sort of spiritual firestorm, hissing at both their dreamscapes.

 

“Is this finally the end?” Dr. Nygard yelled as they searched for a way inside the building.  All of the entrances were reinforced.  The spiritual tension continued to climb, scorching across the aether, blistering their dreamscapes.

 

Warden hauled Dr. Nygard against the dubious shelter of a small outbuilding.  It was concrete, maybe an old garage or bomb shelter?  He pushed at the door with all of his strength, feeling it give way.  He threw Dr. Nygard inside and followed quickly behind.

 

* * *

Warden woke in the dark.  He felt brittle, charred as if his sarx flesh rather than his dreamscape had been blackened.  It was quiet and still.  He reached out in the aether and felt Dr. Nygard, unconscious, several feet away.  He lay there, trying to take stock.  He didn’t think he was physically wounded, but he was so damaged spiritually, he couldn’t really tell.

 

He lay there for what felt like hours, trying to gather strength.  

 

“Are you alive?” Dr. Nygard asked.

 

“I think so,” he replied dryly.

 

“Shit.  I was hoping we were dead.”

 

“I am confident this is some sort of shed, and not our final rest,” Warden said dryly.  It smelled of turpentine and rotting lumber.

 

There was a noise outside and they both pushed themselves into sitting positions.  They looked up as the door was pulled open.  A figure stood there, taking up most of the opening.  

 

Warden stared up at her, at a ghost who had passed on months ago.  “ _Terebell_?”

 

She looked down at him, lips pursed tightly together.  “Errai, Alsafi,” she called over her shoulder, “it worked.  Hurry.”

  
END CHAPTER


	2. Blossom of Hope

Warden was mute as Terebell knelt beside him, uncorking a vial of amaranth and rubbing it on his philtrum and upper lip.  The vital nector jolted through his body and he inhaled deeply, feeling its healing power everywhere.  It shored up his dreamscape, refreshed his aura and beat back the crushing pain of his poltergeist scars.

 

“Can you stand?” Terebell asked.

 

Warden looked at her in wonder.  “I must.”

 

Terebell nodded to Errai and together they helped him to his feet.  Behind him, Alsafi assisted Dr. Nygard, who was also benefitting from the amaranth’s healing properties.  They were ushered outside into the early morning sun.  It was early summer and the meadow was green.

 

“What the hell?” Dr. Nygard called out, then cursed under his breath in Swedish.

 

Warden glanced at him, certain they wore similar expressions of shock.  None of this should be here.  Not Terebell, not Errai, not Alsafi.  The latter two Warden had watched die with is own eyes.  And he’d seen Terebell’s body, or the putrified remains.  But more than that, the sun, the blue sky, the meadow.  None of this should be here.  This was not possible.

 

This remote cottage was where he and Dr. Nygard had been last evening.  He remembered it well, the burned meadow, the deserted house.  A long forgotten memory stolen from Paige without her permission. But while this was undoubtedly the same place, it also was not.  The world, the veils had been restored.  He could feel it in the aether.

 

Without explanation, the Ranthen escorted Warden and Dr. Nygard into the house, which had been inaccessible the previous night.  Warden knew what to expect, because Paige had been here, a decade earlier.  The main room was a greatroom, a combination of living room, dining room and kitchen.  It was aged, all the walls covered in rough hewn planks of wood, the ceiling steeply arched and not terribly tall, though the open rafters created more space.

 

Warden recognized Giselle, Paige’s father’s friend, standing at the battered sink.  She was older now, her veins even more pronounced, her hair more gray, each of her fingers still circled in a silver ring.  She watched him warily, though she did not seem unfamiliar with the other Rephaim.

 

Once inside, they all stopped.  Dr. Nygard shoved Alsafi’s supporting arm away, rocking unsteadily on his feet.  “Enough!” he yelled, his newly restored aura sparking with the force of his emotions.  “Someone tell me what is going on.”

 

“ _Nick_?” the voice was soft, melodic, a whisperer’s voice.  Warden had been so intent on Giselle earlier, he hadn’t seen the young man.

 

Dr. Nygard had gone very still, his already pale features completely devoid of color.  Slowly, he turned to face the speaker.  “Zeke?” he said, his voice a shaky whisper.  He shook his head, tears streaming down his face.  “What is going on?” he demanded, his eyes darting between Ezekiel and Terebell.

 

Ezekiel crossed the room slowly, looking every bit as lost as Dr. Nygard.  “Nick,” he said again softly.  

 

Dr. Nygard continued to shake his head, but he didn’t move as Ezekiel approached.  Slowly, Ezekiel reached out, pulling Dr. Nygard into his embrace.  For a moment, Dr. Nygard stood there, unmoving, but then he seemed to collapse, wrapping around Ezekiel, sobbing silently.

 

Warden turned to face Terebell.  “I need explanations.”

 

“Indeed,” she said, gesturing to a scarred old table in the center of the room.  Wordlessly, Warden dropped into one of the chairs.  Alsafi took a seat as well, but Terebell remained standing.  Errai left, following Giselle through a door on the far side of the kitchen.  Warden knew it led to a narrow staircase that would take them into the converted cellar below the house.

 

“You are all dead,” Warden said flatly, looking between Terebell and Alsafi.  “I watched you die.”

 

“From your perspective,” Terebell said placidly.  

 

He watched as she stood up from the table and walked to the nearby kitchen counter.  She returned with a large stone crock, setting it carefully in the middle of the table.  Warden watched as she removed the lid, exposing hundreds of amaranth blooms, all glistening with nector.  

 

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes.  “A bounty such as this has not been seen for generations,” she said reverently.  “It makes possible many avenues between the veils which had long been lost to us.”

 

* * *

Dr. Nygard joined them at the table, obviously distressed, but still clutching Ezekiel’s hand.  He shook his head, fighting to follow Terebell’s words.  “So you pulled us out of our reality and into yours?”

 

Terebell frowned, her thin lips pulled even thinner.  “You oversimplify,” she said softly, her voice even and devoid of the condescension Warden expected.  “It is not our reality and yours, they are channels through the aether, currents through the veils.”

 

“Yeah, well, _we didn’t have any veils_ ,” Dr. Nygard said sourly.  “The Sargas destroyed those.  We had a barren wasteland of nothing.”

 

“We know,” Terebell said solemnly.  “That is the only reason we took the chance, drawing you into our current in the aether.  You had no route to the final end, no rest.  The aether allows for a great many permutations, but that is abhorrent.  The perversity of the situation is what allowed us to pull you here.”

 

“I assume,” Warden said evenly, “from Ezekiel’s reaction, that the Dr. Nygard from your particular current in the aether is no longer living.”

 

Dr. Nygard immediately looked to Ezekiel, whose eyes welled with tears.  He pulled Dr. Nygard closer, clinging to him.  Dr. Nygard returned the embrace, but his eyes were riveted on Terebell.

 

“You are correct,” Terebell replied.

 

“I am dead too,” Warden said flatly.

 

“Yes,” she said tightly, confirming what he’d already felt in his bones.  “That was the other element which allowed us to pull you here.  The aether would not have permitted two identical souls to coexist in the same current.  But your souls no longer linger here.”

 

Dr. Nygard shook his head, his hand clasped tightly over Ezekiel’s.  “I don’t understand,” he said quietly.  “Why would you do that?”

 

Terebell looked at the table for a long moment, clearly considering her words.   She was different, this Terebell.  Warden didn’t know about various channels through the aether, though he wasn’t terribly shocked that Terebell knew.  She had always been more of a scholar than he.  She sat at the right hand of Ettanin Mothallath, learning from the star-sovereign who shaped so much of their realm.  

 

As long as Warden had known Terebell, she had espoused the Mothallath belief that Rephaim should not interfere in the natural events of the corporeal world.  To combine channels in the aether went far beyond meddling.  What had happened in this particular current through the aether that could cause Terebellum Sheratan to take such drastic action?

 

Terebell finally looked up and, with a humility that shocked Warden to his core, she met Dr. Nygard’s gaze and said, “We need you.”

 

Dr. Nygard seemed as bewildered as Warden by Terebell’s statement.  He laughed, a shrill barking sound.  “For what?  Our only great skill was not dying with everybody else.  And trust me when I tell you that was a mistake on our parts.”  

 

Ezekiel gave Dr. Nygard’s arm and tight squeeze and Warden could tell that he immediately regretted his words.

 

“A mistake, perhaps,” Terebell conceded, “but one for which we are eternally grateful.  Had we - “  She stopped and took a deep breath, composing herself and Warden again marveled at the change in her.  What had happened?  “Had we realized earlier,” she said, “how vitally important you both were, we would have protected you.  We would have done many things differently.”

 

Dr. Nygard looked at Warden who could only shrug in response.  Warden had always known that he was expendable.  Almost everyone was expendable.  But for Terebell to say that a human was important and should have been protected, he was at a loss.

 

* * *

“I’m dead,” Dr. Nygard said, seeming to be playing with the idea.  

 

Warden had to admit, it was rather novel.  He’d been many things, but never dead, in the human sense of the word.  “Less than twelve hours ago, you were actively trying to end your life,” he pointed out.

 

Dr Nygard shrugged, taking another drink of the strong tea Giselle had made several minutes earlier.  Warden watched as Terebell and Errai conferred on the far side of the large room with Giselle.  It was very odd to see Terebell conversing with a human.  Neither she nor Errai had any of the demeanors he had long associated with their interactions with humans.

 

Ezekiel had disappeared before the tea arrived, with a promise to return soon.  With a groan, Dr. Nygard lay his head down on the table.  “What is going on?  I’m not complaining.  I’m just - _lost_.”  

 

Warden had great compassion for the doctor.  Dr. Nygard had only begun to mourn Ezekiel’s loss when they were pulled into this current, and there was his lover, so recently - and violently - lost.  “I do not know what the situation is,” Warden said flatly.  “But it does seem to be an improvement over where we were yesterday.”

 

Dr. Nygard sighed, pillowing his chin on his arms, staring across the room at the Rephaim and human.  “Do you think their Paige is alive?” he asked quietly.

 

Warden felt a jolt go through him as Dr. Nygard spoke the words which Warden, himself, had been studiously avoiding considering.  He had not dared reach for the golden cord, too afraid of what he might find.  “That is my hope,” he said just as quietly.  Though much like Dr. Nygard, his hope was tinged with a surfeit of other emotions, none of which he could fully comprehend at the moment.

 

Dr. Nygard sat up, looking at the Rephaim across the room.  “They’re hiding something.”

 

“Yes,” Warden replied. “They are.  Though, having been involved in the business of sedition for thousands of human years, it is to be expected.”

 

Dr. Nygard looked at Warden.  “Do you think it’s Paige?”

 

“I cannot imagine the Terebell I knew going out of her way to protect Paige, nor of Paige allowing it.”  He looked at the cannister of amaranth blossoms.  “But if today has taught us anything, it is that anything is possible.”

 

END CHAPTER


	3. Currents

The sun crossed the sky shockingly fast and yet Warden and Dr. Nygard were no closer to discovering the truth of this new world.  Giselle saw to it that Dr. Nygard was fed and watered, though when he began to show symptoms of scimorphine withdrawal, she was less warm.  “Serves you right,” she snapped, handing him a cup of tea.

 

Dr. Nygard’s eyes were bloodshot and his skin looked clammy.  “Think they’d notice if I took some amaranth?” he said quietly.

 

“Yes,” Warden replied dryly, “and it would not help.  It heals spiritual wounds, not physical.”

 

“Damn,” Dr. Nygard cursed, rocking slightly in his chair.  He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

 

Terebell and Errai surfaced from the cellar again and crossed the room to where Warden sat with Dr. Nygard.  “We will leave tomorrow for the citadel,” she said.

 

Warden did not miss the look of displeasure Giselle gave Terebell.  “Where in the citadel is our destination?” he asked.

 

“The Ranthen have several safehouses throughout London,” Terebell said.  “For now we will use the one near Old Nichol.  We must avoid the Archon and the Sargas.”

 

Dr. Nygard studied her closely.  “And if we want to return to the syndicate?”

 

Terebell frowned.  “I’m afraid I cannot allow that.  Not right now, though it is our goal to return you to your own.  We will need to negotiate your return.  And Ezekiel’s.”  She looked at Warden and he was certain her words applied only to Dr. Nygard.

 

Warden threaded his fingers together on the table.  “Are we prisoners?”

 

Terebell watched him in silence for several long moments.  “Not as such, no,” she said.  “Though I would discourage you from venturing far from our protection.”

 

Warden nodded and stood, heading for the door.  Terebell did not attempt to stop him.  He walked outside, squinting against the setting sun.  He took several paces away from the cottage and then looked back at it, the sloping roof.  It looked sturdy enough.  Nimbly, he jumped onto the roof and climbed to the peak, sitting down with his back against the chimney.  

 

He looked out across the fields, at the bright shock of poppy red threaded through the cereal crops.  He had no desire to wade into the field to gather poppies, much to his own surprise.  For months, his focus had been Dr. Nygard, though with the day’s events, he no longer feared Dr. Nygard’s imminent demise.  The good doctor would have an uncomfortable time detoxing off scimorphine, but the reappearance of Ezekiel had jolted him out of his self-destructive spiral.  Warden could feel the change in him.

 

Warden took a deep breath and did something he had not done in six months, he concentrated on the golden cord.  He could sense it, delicate and fragile as a spider’s web, but most certainly there.  He shivered, returning his attention to the scene before him.  The cord was there.  He hadn’t dared use it, but it was in tact, which meant that in this new current in the aether, Paige must still live.  He had no idea how to even begin processing that new reality.

 

Losing Paige had nearly ended him.  It was only his promise to her, his promise to care for Dr. Nygard, that kept him going.  For months, he had been gladly searching out his own end.  And now, there was a good chance that Paige lived.  But not _his_ Paige.   _A_ Paige.   _A_ Paige with whom he shared a golden cord.

 

It felt deeply wrong that the aether should be so interchangeable.  The Terebell inside the cottage was different.  She was not the Ranthen sovereign he had known for time immemorial.  Was it possible that she could have changed so dramatically in half a human year?  He truly did not know.  How many other details differed between this current and the one he had known?

 

Warden sat on the roof until the sun had set and the stars were visible.  He hadn’t seen the stars in months.  They were lost when the veils fell.  He looked at Arcturus, the star he had named himself after.  How many lifetimes ago was that?

 

* * *

It was late evening by the time he ventured back inside the cottage.  Terebell showed him to a small room at the back, handing him a goblet of red wine and a large vial of amaranth before she left.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen so much amaranth at once.  He wasn’t sure he ever had.

 

In the dark, he lay on the small bed, his feet hanging off the end.  He could hear Dr. Nygard and Ezekiel several doors down.  It sounded like Dr. Nygard was having a rough time.  Perhaps when they returned to London, the Ranthen could procure pharmaceuticals that could ease his journey.

 

Did this Paige know what Terebell had done?  Did she have any idea that there was now another Arcturus Mesarthim walking the earth?  Or was he to be some horrible surprise of Terebell’s invention?  If so, he had no intention of participating.  He had no desire for Paige to be taken off guard in any situation.

 

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the cord again.  With the slightest touch of his mind, he nudged it with a single thought, _Paige_.  He felt the thought echo out into nothing.  He waited, for hours, and there was no reply.  He had not expected one, but it was still disappointing.

 

A golden cord existed between this current’s Paige and his doppelganger, but he had no idea how much else was similar.  Had this Paige been branded in Sheol I?

 

 

> _We swear it with the mark of fire.  XX-59-40, you are bound forever to the Warden of the Mesarthim.  You will renounce your true name as long as you shall live.  Your life is ours._

 

He hoped this Paige had been spared the indignity of Sheol I, though he doubted it was possible.  He had no idea how else their paths would have crossed with enough frequency and intent to forge a golden cord.  But even assuming that was the case, there were still so many unknowns.  Had this current’s Arcturus loved Paige?   Had he protected her?  Had she loved him?  Would she be relieved that the golden cord once again had two anchors, or would it simply be another type of bondage?

 

 

> _I don’t want your power.  Just get rid of it.  Break it._

 

He tried to steel himself for the possibility that this Paige would likely see his presence as blatant manipulation.  And rightfully so.  He only hoped it did not distract her from Scion and the Sargas.

 

* * *

The vehicles were blacked out, three of them in total, making a small convoy headed for London.  The vehicles had been commandeered from Scion, that much was obvious.  How, exactly, the Ranthen had managed that feat was less obvious.  They had allies, human allies.  There was no other explanation.  The lone Ranthen bank account could not have financed such an endeavor.

 

It was almost dawn when they arrived at the safehouse.  Warden helped Ezekiel usher Dr. Nygard inside.  His condition had worsened during the trip and he was shivering violently, staggering.  They got him inside and situated on a bare mattress in the basement, near a less than appealing bathroom.  Warden left Ezekiel to look after Dr. Nygard and returned to the main floor of the house.  

 

The safehouse was large, but run down, though not in shambles.  The wiring was at least fifty years out of date and it didn’t appear anything had been dusted in all that time.  Not that Warden was complaining.  After the hell he’d lived through for the last six months, these were phenomenal accommodations.

 

Several more Ranthen had joined Terebell, Alsafi and Errai.  Pleione Saulocin and Lucida Sargas watched him in silence as he stepped out of the cramped basement stairway and into the living room.

 

“Arcturus,” Lucida said, inclining her head with a small, smirking smile.  He nodded in return, watching as Lucida turned to face Terebell.  “You know the Underqueen will not be pleased.”

 

“Her pleasure is not my concern,” Terebell replied curtly.  “Only her safety.”

 

Lucida arched an eyebrow, but held her tongue.  Warden marveled at how much she resembled the rest of her Sargas kin.

 

“Dr. Nygard requires medications,” Warden said.  “His opiate withdrawal symptoms are intensifying and I am afraid he is in danger of suffering a seizure if measures are not taken.”

 

Terebell nodded and signaled to Errai who immediately left.  The remaining Ranthen looked at each other.  Warden threaded his fingers together and said, “It would benefit me greatly to understand why it is the Ranthen have gone to such lengths to protect the Underqueen, even, it appears, against her will.”

 

Lucida smiled openly and took a seat, apparently settling in for a good show.  “Do tell, Terebell,” she nearly purred.

 

With all the joy of a wet cat, Terebell took a seat in an upholstered wingchair, motioning for the others to do the same.  Warden remained standing.

 

“Shortly before the fall of Sheol I,” Terebell said, “the amaranth bloomed.”

 

Warden nodded.  He had known as much.

 

“We Ranthen took it as a sign that our endeavor was blessed by the aether.”  She sighed, pursing her lips together tightly.  “Our conclusions were premature.”

 

Warden raised an eyebrow.

 

“It was not the Ranthen, who were tied to the amaranth,” Terebell said quietly.  “It boded well for rebellion and for the Ranthen cause, but it was not our doing.”

 

“Paige,” Warden said.

 

“Yes,” Terebell said, nodding.  “The Underqueen.  The amaranth bloomed for her, because of her.”  She looked at Warden.  “And because of her ties to one of our kind.”

 

Warden kept his expression blank.  “The golden cord.”

 

Terebell watched him for a long moment.  “That is one explanation.”

 

“Though not her favorite,” Lucida said with a laugh.

 

Terebell’s expression was sour.  “For centuries, we have watched the Sargas indoctrinate human minds with their poison rhetoric.  Voyants are lesser, flawed, evil.  Voyants must be contained, herded, controlled.  We may not have been in complete agreement, but we did not question the logic closely.  It fit with what we already knew about humans, that they are ... _dangerous_.  That is is abhorrent to consort with them.”

 

Lucida looked at Warden with one eyebrow raised.  Warden remained quiet and still.

 

“And yet,” Terebell said begrudgingly, “it is because of a human that we have a chance to restore She’ol.  The Underqueen’s ties to you, Arcturus, are integral to our success.  The Underqueen must be supported, and she must be tied to the Ranthen.”

 

“The amaranth blooms,” Warden said, “despite the fact that my counterpart in this current in the aether has been dead for ...”

 

“Five months,” Pleoine offered quickly.

 

Warden nodded.  Five months.  Both golden cords had been broken for similar amounts of time.  Surely that wasn’t coincidence.  He looked at Terebell.

 

“I have no answer for that,” she said.  “But we have consulted the aether and it is what we believe to be true.  You, and the golden cord you share with the Underqueen, are integral to our success.”  She took a deep breath.  “The Underqueen is strong, but she has faltered, without you, without her mollisher.  She has weakened and we cannot allow that.”

 

“And if she rejects us?” Warden asked.  He was fairly certain no version of Paige would reject Dr. Nygard, but he was much less certain about himself.  She had a rather prolific history of telling him to fuck off.

 

“You must not allow that to happen,” Terebell said flatly.

 

Warden suppressed a smile.  Terebell was different, but she still had no insights into Paige Mahoney.

* * *

 

Warden descended the stairs as quietly as possible, but Ezekiel still looked up as he entered the basement.  “I have medications for Dr. Nygard,” he said, handing the bag to Ezekiel.

 

Ezekiel smiled softly, one hand stroking the hair back from Dr. Nygard’s clammy face.  “It’s NIck,” he said.  “And Zeke.”

 

Warden smiled.  “Nick then, and Zeke.”  He turned to leave.

 

“Thank you,” Zeke said.

 

Warden turned, watching as Zeke slowly pushed himself off the mattress.  The boy crossed the basement to where he stood.

 

“Thank you,” he said again.  “Nick told me.  Some of it anyway.  I can’t believe you guys lived through that, I can’t believe you got him through that.”

 

“We were quite literally saved by Terebell’s intervention,” Warden said.

 

Zeke shrugged, unconvinced.  He glanced over his shoulder at Nick.  “He told me a little.  He told me that I died, that Paige died.”

 

Warden nodded solemnly.

 

“I can’t imagine him living through that,” Zeke said, pain etched into his features.

 

“It was not, precisely, living,” Warden said quietly.

 

“Yeah,” Zeke said softly, looking back at Nick.  “I know.”

 

* * *

As the sun started its new path across the sky, Warden retreated to one of the dark bedrooms.  There was running water in the attached bathroom, though it wasn’t terribly warm.  It was sufficient for him to wash himself.

 

Marginally more clean, he lay on the bed and stared at the shadowed ceiling.  He reached out in the aether.  He could sense Paige, though nothing about her location or her emotions.  Just her.  Just the fact that she existed, which was almost more than he could ask for.

 

He concentrated on the golden cord.  It was stronger than the previous day, though still not robust.  He took a deep breath and touched his mind to the cord. _London.  Old Nichol.  With Dr. Nygard._

 

Once again, he waited for hours with no response.

 

End Chapter


	4. Coffee, Conversation and Capture

Warden nodded as Zeke entered the kitchen and set the kettle on the stove to boil.  It was late afternoon and most of the Rephaim still rested.  Warden was anxious, uneasy.  He’d been awake for hours, sitting at the kitchen table, thinking.  “How is Nick?” he asked.

 

Zeke nodded.  “Much better,” he said.  “The meds really helped.  Thank you again.”

 

“It is the least I could do,” Warden said.

 

Zeke took a mug from the cupboard and rummaged through a drawer until he found an ancient container of instant coffee.  He set them on the counter next to the stove and joined Warden at the small table.

 

“You seem familiar with the safehouse,” Warden said.

 

“Yes,” Zeke said tightly.  “Errai and Pleione found me after - “  He stopped, frowning.  

 

“I was with Nadine and Jaxon after the scrimmage,” Zeke continued, his voice soft and melodic.  “I didn’t want to go with Jax, but I couldn’t leave Nadine.”  He shook his head, his features shadowed with regret.  “Maybe if I’d stayed - “  He shook his head again.  “After Scion’s Novembertide celebrations, the announcement of the Great Territorial Act and the creation of the new penal colony in Edinburgh it was ... _war_.  All out war.  Between Scion and the syndicate.  It wasn’t what I signed up for.  It got bloody.”

 

Warden nodded.  The same had happened in his world.  Rephaite fighting Rephaite in open combat, no longer trying to conceal themselves from humanity.  Nashira and her Scion-kitted minions attempting to strike at the heart of the syndicate, which had always been far more nimble and inventive, though so much less organized.

 

”Nadine and I were with Jax, surrounded by the Sargas and their supporters, watching our former allies from the syndicate tortured and killed.  They shipped us to Edinburgh for a while, and then back to the Archon.  I tried to convince Nadine to leave, but she wouldn’t abandon Jax.  She said he needed her.”  He laughed mirthlessly.  “Jax was using us, all of us.  Paige was the only one with the cojones to do anything about it.  And I didn’t back her when it mattered.”

 

The kettle whistled and Warden watched as Zeke stood and mixed the coffee into the steaming water.  He looked tired, frayed, the way they all did.  But there was a lightness about him that Warden knew had everything to do with Nick’s arrival.

 

Zeke resumed his seat, looking at the murky beverage.  “It was just after the new year,” he said quietly.  “The tenth.  One of Nashira’s Punisher patrols got lucky.  They caught some high ranking syndies.  Nick was one of them.”  He took a deep breath, hands wrapped around the mug.  “I thought they’d turn him over to the Scion interrogators for a few days.  I knew Nick had visions of waterboarding.  I thought I had time.  But Nashira gave him to Jax.”  Zeke’s face crumpled, his hands shaking so badly coffee sloshed out of the mug and onto the table.

 

“Jaxon murdered Nick,” Warden said.  “In order to steal his gifts.”

 

Zeke looked up, wide eyed.  “Jaxon tried,” he said.  “He murdered Nick.  He was binding his spirit and I just ... “  He sighed, his face contorted in agony as he suppressed sobs.  “I snapped.  I saw him carving Nick’s name into his arm and I  ... attacked him.”

 

“Did you kill him?” Warden asked quietly.

 

Zeke shook his head, frowning.  “I cut off his arm,” he said.  He laughed hollowly.  “It stopped him.  It freed several of his other boundlings too.  I said the threnody for Nick.  And then I ran.  I left Nadine.  The syndicate had launched a rescue attempt, but Scion was ready for them.  The chaos was incredible.  You,” he looked up, “the other _you_ , was captured.  I should have stayed.  I should have tried to free him, but I just ran.”

 

“As you should have,” Warden said firmly.

 

Zeke’s bottom lip trembled and he shook his head roughly.  “I didn’t have anywhere to go.  I didn’t have Nadine.  I wasn’t sure the syndicate would take me back after I walked out on them.  I didn't think I deserved to be taken back, not after Nick.  Errai and Pleione found me, they brought me here.”  He took a deep breath.  “Nashira executed Arcturus, very publicly, about a month later.  It was horrible.”

 

Warden nodded, thankful at least that Nashira from his world hadn’t had the same opportunity with Paige.  Scion had tried to capture a group of high ranking syndicate members, but they hadn’t taken any alive.  Paige was killed in the ambush, a spare bullet shot by a Vigile who had no idea what he’d stumbled into.  There were only two casualties, Paige and Ognega Maria.  But their loss was enough to completely splinter the syndicate.  

 

The timeframes were similar between the two currents.  January tenth, that had been the day of the ambush, the day he lost Paige.  In this world, it was the day Nick was killed and his own counterpart was captured.  Six months.  Six months in Warden’s own current since he lost Paige, and six months in this current since the Underqueen was separated from her Warden.

 

Warden and Zeke sat in silence for a long time, Zeke sipping his coffee and Warden contemplating the currents of the aether.  When the coffee was gone, Zeke stood.  “I need to check on Nick.”

 

“Of course,” Warden said with a nod.  According to Errai, with the medications, Nick should be mostly recovered by morning, though there could be long term repercussions that would take a while to surface.

 

* * *

Lucida was the first of the Ranthen to rise, shortly after sundown.  With a smirking smile, she joined Warden at the small table.  “Zeke told you of your counterpart’s fate.”

 

Warden nodded, unsurprised that she had been eavesdropping.

 

“It was difficult on Terebell,” Lucida said, crossing her long legs, leaning back in her chair, watching him.  Of all Rephaim, she was by far the most human Warden had ever known.  Just one of many ways in which she differed from her Sargas kin.  “She has had a tough time,” Lucida said, sounding not the least bit compassionate toward her sovereign.

 

She narrowed her eyes at him, watching him carefully.  “Dear Terebellum has had a crisis of faith,” Lucida continued.  “I think breaking from Ettanin’s doctrine has damaged her.  She has decided that your ... _connection_ ... to the Underqueen is the key to restoring the Netherworld.”

 

“You are less than convinced,” Warden said carefully.

 

“I think our sovereign is grasping,” she said with a sour frown.  “I believe it is possible that Arcturus’s initial connection to Paige Mahoney was what caused the amaranth to bloom.  But Arcturus has been dead for months.  I am not convinced that maintaining your connection to the Underqueen is what will save us.”

 

“The amaranth still blooms,” he said.

 

“Indeed,” Lucida acknowledged.  She shrugged, frustrated.  “Perhaps Terebell is right.  Perhaps the idea has merit.  Our actions over the last century haven’t yielded encouraging results.  Though I, for one, will not be first in line to form a ... _relationship_ ... with a human.”

 

“The aether created the golden cord,” Warden said.  

 

“The golden cord, yes,” Lucida said with a poison smile.  “I wasn’t, actually, referring to _that_ connection.  I was referring to the fact that Arcturus was a rotmonger who lay with humans.”  She looked him up and down.  “Are you truly his double?”

 

Warden watched her carefully.  “Not _humans_ ,” he said.  “It was not a habit.  Just the one.”

 

Lucida cackled in true amusement, her laughter echoing off the walls.  She was a perverse creature with a far more highly developed sense of humor than any of the Rephaim.  

 

Her eyes were still twinkling as she said, “I would have given _anything_ to see my dear cousin’s face when she discovered Arcturus and his little Paige.  That must have been delicious.  Nashira always did covet him.  One of her greatest triumphs was shackling him to her side.”  Smirking, she shook her head.  “And for him to seduce a human right under her nose, what bitter betrayal.”  

 

Warden wondered again what had existed between Arcturus and the Underqueen.  There were subtle differences between this timeline and his.  And much of his relationship with Paige had been rooted in subtlety.  Had Arcturus actually been a flesh-traitor, or merely accused of it for damaging Nashira’s ego?  “It is likely that he did not actually intend to be caught,” Warden said dryly.

 

“No,” Lucida conceded.  “I suppose not.  And to her credit, Nashira did get her revenge.”

 

“So Zeke said,” Warden replied.

 

Lucida sobered, frowning.  “It was a well made point.”

 

Warden could only imagine.  Nashira was vicious and sadistic with little provocation.  His betrayal of her was provocation of the highest degree.  He had no intention of giving her another opportunity to exact her revenge, on either himself or the Underqueen.

 

“The syndicate will come for you and the humans,” Lucida said quietly, her eyes intent on his face.  “I’m sure you know that.  Have you contacted them?”

 

Warden returned her gaze, unblinking.  “I would be displeased if the Underqueen were caught unaware by Terebell’s machinations.”

 

Lucida smiled.  “The Underqueen and Terebell had a vicious falling out after Arcturus was captured by Nashira.  It was nearly the end of the entire alliance.  Without the Red Vision as the mollisher supreme, there was no cooler head to prevail.”

 

Warden wondered what the source of the disagreement had been.  Presumably one of them had wanted to rescue his double and the other did not.  But which was which?  Had Terebell been willing to sacrifice him?  Or had it been the Underqueen?  “But the alliance did survive?” Warden asked.

 

“Barely,” Lucida said with a frown.  “In name only.  There is little communication and no coordination.  Terebell cut off their funds months ago, though they seem to manage.  They are surprisingly resourceful.”

 

“I thought Terebell was concerned about the Underqueen being supported.  Why would she cut off their funds?”

 

“To try and drive them back under the safety of her wing, of course,” Lucida said with a smile.  “But the Underqueen can be quite contrary when she wants.”

 

Warden suppressed a smile.  Truer words had rarely been spoken.

 

“Terebell was rightfully concerned though,” Lucida said, sobering.  “The Underqueen faltered badly after the death of the Red Vision and Arcturus.  She was unwell.”

 

“And now?” Warden asked, mindful to keep his tone even.

 

“She seems recovered enough,” Lucida offered.  “Her new mollisher, the Greek Fire, handles all of the syndicate’s interactions with the Ranthen.  They’ve been trying to negotiate Zeke’s return for some time.  I believe their patience is wearing thin.”

 

“The Greek Fire,” Warden said.  “A ... pyromancer?”

 

“Yes,” Lucida said with a bright smile.  “How perfectly perverse.  I believe the Underqueen did that as a dig at her former mentor.  She elevated a vile augur to the second highest position in the London syndicate.  He does appear to be competent.  No Red Vision though.  And from all accounts, he is actually Macedonian, not Greek.  Andrej Janev.”

 

Warden shook his head.  “I am unfamiliar with the name.”

 

Lucida smiled broadly.  “Oh, I’m sure that will change.  From all reports, he and the Underqueen are _quite_ close.  He is a very dedicated mollisher.”

 

Warden merely returned Lucida’s stare.  He already knew the ways of the syndicate.  He knew it was traditional for mollishers to be heirs and lovers to their respective mime-lords or mime-queens.  However, he also knew that Paige had not been Jaxon’s lover.  And that Paige, herself, as Underqueen, had appointed two mollishers, Nick and Eliza, neither of whom she was romantically involved with.  

 

Even if this Paige were involved with her mollisher, Warden would have no choice but to accept it.  He didn’t know that this Paige and her Arcturus had ever been lovers.  Even if they had been, he would not want her to choose his memory over human companionship.  He would not want her to mourn him indefinitely.  she was a finite creature who deserved to live life.

 

Lucida shook her head in amusement.  “My, but it must have been something to see you and Nashira interact for two centuries.  I’d get more blood from a stone.”  She narrowed her gaze at him.  “I do wonder what the Underqueen sees in you.  Perhaps you have hidden passions.  Or maybe she has enough for the both of you.”

 

* * *

Warden stood on the safehouse’s tiny third floor balcony.  It was on the back of the house, well away from the prying eyes of Scion patrols.  It overlooked an overgrown yard, littered with decades of trash.  The rest of the neighborhood was much the same, vacant lots and boarded up storefronts, ramshackle houses.  

 

He reached out in the aether for the golden cord.  It was stronger, no longer the wispy spiderweb.  But Paige still was not using it to communicate anything.  He knew she lived by the mere fact that the cord existed, but other than that, there was nothing.

 

Warden still didn’t know what to make of Terebell’s newfound change of strategy.  Personally, he did feel that there was more to his connection to Paige than just the golden cord.  It did feel fundamental to him.  And the amaranth did bloom the first time he touched her, so long ago in the Guildhall.  But he was hardly objective about the situation.

 

Now the amaranth bloomed, a crop the likes of which had never before been seen.  A bounty that allowed Terebell to pull him out of his world and into this one, to stand in for the Arcturus Mesarthim who had been tortured and murdered by Nashira.  He had doubts that he was of much import to either the amaranth or the revolution.  It was Paige.  In his world, the amaranth had died with her, despite the fact that he still drew breath.   _She_ was the key.  And he would support her in any way he could.

 

He turned as Nick and Zeke stepped out onto the balcony.

 

“Oh shit, we’re all going to die up here,” Nick said, still looking pale as he tested the unstable decking.  

 

Zeke gave him a squeeze.  “We’ll be fine, cariño.  You’re the one who taught me to climb.”

 

“Climb, yes,” Nick said, looking unconvinced, “when your life depends on it.  Not to crawl around on top of condemned buildings for the hell of it.”

 

Nick was having a hard time adapting to the newly restored world.  Warden understood completely.  Even without the lingering effects of the opiate withdrawal, being back in a living, breathing London was a lot to take.  Warden knew what it was to look around and see only the ghosts of what had been lost.  He knew the fear of reaching out for his former life.  The fear that it wouldn’t be there, that it wouldn’t be the same.

 

He turned to speak to Nick and stopped.

 

Nick and Zeke both followed his line of vision.  There were five soldiers in Scion riot attire, rappelling harnesses strapped to their bodies, pointing guns at them.  Warden stared at them, aware of the laser sights dancing over his, Zeke and Nick’s chests.  He could see the soldiers clearly, but he could sense none of them in the aether.  They didn’t feel like amaurotics.  They felt like _nothing_.  

 

The leader motioned to a rickety metal fire escape that had been hastily bolted to the outside of the house at least fifty years earlier.  Warden looked at the fire escape and then back to the soldiers, considering his options.  The bullets would pose no lasting threat to him, but the same was not true for Nick and Zeke.

 

“The Underqueen would like a word,” the lead soldier said.

  
END CHAPTER


	5. Muse's Fury

Warden sat in the middle of the SUV’s three rows of seats, watching the young man behind the wheel.  He was tall for a human, probably the same height as Nick, though leaner and younger.  He had dark hair and light eyes.  His olive toned skin was sallow, like he hadn’t seen the sun for months.  

 

The remaining four soldiers were also in the SUV.  A short woman with a mass of curling dark hair sat in the passenger’s seat.  Warden recognized her as belonging to the Glym Lord.  He was fairly certain she was a summoner, though he still could not sense her in the aether.

 

The three remaining soldiers sat in the SUV’s back seat.  Two brothers, both in their teens, tall and slim with skin like ebony, who had belonged to Ognega Maria. The final soldier was a young woman, tall with a shock of bright pink hair and skin so pale you could see her blue veins, whom Warden had never met.

 

Warden looked down at his hands, secured in ancient manacles that were bolted to the floor.  He looked back to Andrej.  Either the syndicate in this current was considerably better equipped and organized than the one he had known.  Or the last six months had wrought a significant change in how the syndicate conducted business.

 

“I take it you are the Greek Fire,” Warden said to the driver.  “The Underqueen’s mollisher.”

 

Andrej looked up and met his gaze in the rear-view mirror, his expression betraying nothing.  “And you are the Warden of the Mesarthim.”

 

Beside Warden, Nick nudged him and then gave him a questioning glance.  “How’d you know who he was?”

 

“Lucida,” Warden replied quietly.

 

Nick shook his head, seeming to realize just how much he’d missed the last few days.  Beside him, Zeke touched a comforting hand to his knee.  They both looked nervous.  Warden was uneasy as well.

 

“The Underqueen was surprised to learn of your presence,” Andrej continued conversationally, though there was a hard undercurrent to his tone, “especially considering you and Nick are _dead_.”

 

Warden shrugged, having no desire to play into the mollisher supreme’s thinly veiled threat.  “Any explanation I have is for the Underqueen.”

 

Andrej’s eye twitched, but he did not reply.  He didn’t drive to the Devil’s Acre, which didn’t shock Warden.  Despite being the traditional territory of the Underqueen, the Devil’s Acre was too well known to the Sargas.  Nashira’s pet poltergeist had been used there to murder the former Underlord and seven of his underlings.  As a syndicate holding, it had little use.  Instead, Andrej drove them to I-4, careful to avoid Vigile patrols.

 

Following Jaxon’s betrayal of the syndicate and his subsequent alliance with the Sargas, Page had stripped him of all rights within the syndicate.  A largely ceremonial move, since Jaxon Hall had no intention of returning to his former life.  The Underqueen had apparently done the same in this current.  

 

There was a building in I-4 that took up most of a block on Giles’s Passage.  It used to be a large manufacturing complex, but it had fallen to ruin nearly a century ago.  The stone and brick facade was still imposing, four stories tall, with all the windows boarded over or blacked out with paint.  It was a formidable fortress for the new Underqueen.

 

As they approached the blocked alleyway, three burly figures slipped from the shadows and moved crates and debris before swinging the locked gate wide.  The large SUV crept through the narrow alleyway with only inches to spare on either side.  Behind the gate was a small complex of buildings, almost all of them interlinked.  Warden glanced out the window and saw voyants looking down at their progress.  These voyants he could sense.

 

Andrej eventually turned a tight corner and pulled into a large warehouse space where several more vehicles were parked.  The guards exited the SUV with guns drawn again.  They unlocked Warden’s manacles and ushered him, Nick and Zeke out of the vehicle.

 

The soldiers were joined by an odd assortment of other syndies, some of whom Warden recognized.  None of them seemed to care for the presence of a Rephaite in the Underqueen’s lair.  They all watched him closely, most with open distrust on their features.  

 

Some of the syndies, clearly, were newly recruited.  They all appeared to be well trained though, falling into natural fighting stances, ready to respond to a perceived threat.  It appeared the syndicate was recruiting from Scion’s Vigiles.  That was an interesting development.  As with the voyants who had been watching their progress from the windows, Warden could sense the new arrivals in the aether.

 

“Chell,” Andrej called over his shoulder, “you got it?”

 

“Give a sec,” came the reply from the next room.

 

Warden stood there placidly, hands at his sides.  Nick and Zeke did the same.  Andrej started shrugging out of his riot gear, removing body armor.  Under the body armor was some kind of harness that held a metal plate over his solar plexus.  As soon as he removed that plate, Warden could sense him in the aether.  His aura was still muddled, no doubt by Emim blood.  But he was no longer invisible.

 

“Move!” came the shout and Warden watched as the crowd of onlookers was pushed out of the way.  Eventually Eliza burst through their ranks, her eyes wide.  Her gaze flicked over him, Nick and Zeke and then back to Nick.

 

“Oh my god,” she sobbed, rushing forward and throwing herself at Nick.  He caught her in his arms, pulling her close.  She pulled back far enough to look up into his face, shaking her head, tears streaming down her face.  “It’s really you, isn’t it?  How is this possible?”

 

“It’s a long story, Muse,” Nick replied with a smile, pressing a hard kiss to her brow.

 

“And Zeke,” she said, still holding on to Nick as she pulled Zeke close.  “We missed you so much,” she said.  “We waited for you to come home.”

 

Zeke didn’t reply, it was clear he was beyond words, but he returned Eliza’s hug.

 

Eliza looked up at the former Seals, her cheeks shining with tears.  Then, on a dime, she turned and addressed the gathered crowd.  “I know you all have work to do,” she barked.  “This isn’t a performance.”

 

Despite the fact that Eliza was, by far, the smallest person in the room, the crowd immediately complied, disbanding.  Nick chuckled and squeezed her from behind.  She leaned back into his embrace, smiling.

 

A woman, presumably Chell, with long black braids that fell to her waist, approached Andrej and handed him something as Warden watched.

 

Eliza finally turned to face Warden.  She took several steps, coming to stand directly before him, clearly flustered.  “And you,” she said awkwardly, staring up at him.  “We, uh - “  She took a deep breath.  “We, uh - “  She shook her head, at a loss for words.  Without warning, she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms tightly around his middle.

 

Warden stood there, stock still, staring down at Eliza as she sobbed.  He looked at Nick who merely raised an eyebrow, seemingly amused.  Awkwardly, Warden reached out and patted Eliza gently on the back.  

 

She eventually released him, taking several steps back and looking up at him, her cheeks wet.  “It’s good to see you, Warden,” she said quietly.  

 

“And you, Eliza,” he said.  He hadn’t known Eliza well, but she had great loyalty to Paige, which predisposed him to think well of her.

 

Eliza turned as Andrej approached.  Warden could now see that he carried a bracelet made of poppy anemone.

 

“What the hell is that?” Eliza demanded, placing herself directly between Andrej and Warden.

 

“A precaution,” Andrej said tightly.  “We still don’t know who he really is.”

 

“I’ll show you what you can do with your fucking precaution,” Eliza swore, snatching the bracelet out of Andrej’s grip with the practiced speed of a childhood spent thieving.  She crushing it in her hand.

 

“Muse!” Andrej bellowed, glaring down at Eliza.  “All we know about him is that he’s a Rephaite.”

 

She crossed her arms over her chest, rising up on tiptoe as she stared back at him.  “Unless you’re doing this directly on Paige’s orders, you’ll do it over my dead body.”

 

Andrej stared at her, nostrils flaring, but he said nothing.

 

While Warden applauded Andrej’s desire to protect the Underqueen, he was relieved the poppy bracelet hadn’t been her idea.

 

“It’s on you,” Andrej said darkly, “if anything happens.”  He turned and disappeared into the shadows.

 

Slowly, Eliza let out a breath, deflating.  She turned and looked at the three of them.  “C’mon,” she said, tilting her head toward a lit doorway.  “Let’s get you inside.”

 

* * *

“Paige is out,” Eliza said, sinking onto the battered sofa next to Warden.  She looked exhausted.  There were dark purple smudges beneath her eyes and her golden ringlets were lank.  Warden watched as she uncorked the bottle of port.  She poured four generous glasses, passing them out and setting the bottle back on the coffee table.

 

Warden took his glass, looking around the room.  It was located on complex’s fourth floor.  It was set up as a study with books and couches.  All of the windows were were boarded over and the room was lit with oil lamps.  The decor was a mishmash of styles and eras.  Bookshelves lined one of the walls.  Warden recognized them from Paige’s memories of the White Binder’s den.  He suspected most of the furniture in this room had come from there, with several other eclectic additions.

 

“Out where?” Nick asked.  He was seated on another couch, next to Zeke, opposite the couch where Warden and Eliza sat.

 

Eliza frowned, seeming to consider how much she should say to two formerly dead people and a traitor.  Then she shrugged.  “She’s meeting with Antoinette Carter.”

 

Nick frowned.  “Without either of her mollishers?”

 

“Oh, Andrej insisted on going,” Eliza said, making a sour face.  “Paige ignored him.  She took Wynn, Ognega Maria and Julian.  They’re more than enough.  And better in a delicate situation than either Andrej or me.”   She looked at Nick and said meaningfully, “We’ve missed you.”

 

“And I have missed you, Muse.”

 

Warden listened as Nick related the story of how they had ended up in this particular current in the aether.  He watched as Zeke crept closer, reaching for Nick’s hand when the telling became too much.  It was interesting to Warden to hear another’s perspective of their shared experience, to learn the moments that stuck with Nick and to know which memories belonged to him alone.

 

Eliza listened intently, asking few questions, her hand clamped over her mouth in horror.  She shook her head, tears in her eyes as she looked at Warden.  “You lost your Paige,” she said quietly.

 

He ducked his head, staring at the glass of port he held.  “The world lost Paige,” he said.  “And we lost the world.”

 

They sat there, late into the night, sipping Jaxon Hall’s expensive alcohol.  Warden enjoyed the camaraderie even if he felt out of place.  He didn’t share the easy rapport of the former Seals.  

 

When Nick began to fade, Eliza stood, leading them down a dimly lit hallway.  “We get a lot of visitors,” she said, motioning to the half dozen doorways at the end of the hall, three on either side.  “You’re welcome to whatever rooms you want.  There’s a bathroom around the corner.  The water’s a bit rusty, but it’s hot.”

 

Nick gave Eliza a quick hug and then ducked into the nearest room with Zeke.  Warden nodded to Eliza before taking the most secluded room.  There was a small lamp sitting on the floor, its low wattage bulb providing meager illumination.  There were no windows, which was fine with Warden.  The bare mattress on the floor was in shockingly good shape and there was a stack of clean sheets and a blanket folded at the foot.

 

Warden made the bed and sat down on the mattress, leaning back against the bare brick wall.  Though exhausted, he wasn’t particularly tired and he still had enough amaranth that his physical constitution did not yet demand rest.

 

He stared up at the ceiling dotted with spiderwebs and listened.  The Underqueen’s compound was busy.  There had to be sixty people in residence, maybe more.  They were mostly voyants, though Warden had caught glimpses of several amaurotics as Eliza led them through the warren of rooms.  The fourth floor was reasonably quiet, though not completely insulated from the noise of the lower floors.

 

It was hours before he heard voices.  He sat up, straining to hear.  He immediately recognized the timber and cadence of Paige’s voice.  She was with several other people, Andrej, Eliza and ... XX-59-26, Julian, Paige’s co-conspirator from Sheol I.

 

“Just go,” the Underqueen snapped.  “I’m fine.”

 

Warden listened as three sets of feet retreated.  There was a long silence and then he heard her approach the door to his room.

 

END CHAPTER


	6. The Underqueen

She stood outside the door for long moments.  Like Andrej and his crew, Warden could not sense the Underqueen in the aether.  It was a deeply unsettling sensation.  He listened to the sound of her breathing, a cadence so familiar it made him ache.  How many times had he listened, in the Founder’s Tower, as she did the same thing outside the door to his room?  And here there was no grammophone to drown out the sound.

 

This was not his Paige.  He just hoped he could remember that.

 

He heard her take a sharp breath and then there was a single, sharp knock on his door.

 

“It is open,” he said.

 

She turned the knob, allowing the door to swing wide into the room as she stood there.  He looked up at her from where he sat on the mattress, unable to breathe as he studied her in the dim light.  She looked exactly as he remembered, and also completely different.  Her hair was cut very close to her scalp, pale blonde and curling as much as its length allowed, with no hint of the black she had dyed it the previous year.  She was extremely thin, the bones of her skull  and chest clearly visible beneath her pale skin.   The way they had in Sheol I.  There were dark purple smudges of fatigue beneath her eyes and the scar along her jaw from the scrimmage stood out in harsh relief.  Her hands looked skeletal, especially the one wrapped tightly around a bottle of water.

 

She was dressed unusually for SciLo in a long, flowing black v-neck jumper that draped voluminously around her thin frame.  Her sturdy trousers were black and shapeless.  Her black boots appeared to be military grade Scion issue.  The only bits of adornment were the two pendants she wore directly against the skin of her chest.  The first had been a gift from him, the sublimed pendant to protect her from poltergeists.  The other appeared to be the same metal that her mollisher had worn under his body armor.  Presumably the source of her invisibility in the aether.

 

He finally forced a breath and cleared his throat.  “You look different,” he said, and was then immediately reminded of when he had last spoken those words to her, in the catacombs of Camden.  

 

From the look on her face, he knew she remembered as well.  She stepped into the room, slowly.  “You look different too,” she said softly.  There were many emotions etched into her pale features, sadness, fear, anger.  “Though I suppose _we’ve_ never actually met.”

 

Slowly, he pushed himself off the mattress and stood, careful to not crowd her.

 

She looked up at him and laughed mirthlessly.  “How is it that I forget just how unbelievably tall you are?”

 

He had no reply for that, so he simply stood there.

 

Shaking her head, she turned and closed the door, shutting them both inside.  She gave him a sidelong glance and walked to the mattress.  “At the risk of seeming presumptuous, I have to sit down before I fall over.”  She sat heavily on the mattress and he watched her carefully, taking note of just how exhausted she looked, of the thin sheen of sweat on her pale skin.

 

She was different.  Older.  More tired.  She seemed worn and frayed in ways that he hadn’t seen before, not even in the penal colony.  It colored the way she interacted with him.  She seemed less unsure of herself in regards to him.  Like she simply didn’t have the time to worry about the connection between them.  She seemed like the Underqueen.

 

As he watched, she shrugged out of her jumper, exposing only the barest hint of the black vest she wore underneath as she balled the jumper against her chest.  “I’m burning up,” she said flatly.  He took her quite literally.  She was definitely feverish, her eyes glassy against her flushed skin.

 

“Are you unwell?” he asked.  He knew that Scion had taken great pains to make it nearly impossible for voyants to receive basic social services like medical care.  As the Underqueen, she could surely find a doctor.  But if she needed any type of specialized care, it would be a logistical nightmare.  Both Terebell and Lucida made mention to the fact that she had been ill.  Perhaps she was not as recovered as they thought.

 

“I’m great,” she said bitterly, opening the bottle of water and taking a long drink.  She looked up at him and motioned to the rest of the bed.  “By all means, sit.  I’m not going to bite and I’m not contagious.”  She laughed mirthlessly.

 

As he sat, she scrubbed a hand through her short hair, causing it to stick up in sweaty spikes.  Taking another drink, she looked at him.  “Eliza told me Nick’s version of events.  I want to know yours.”

 

“It is the same,” he said.  

 

She looked at him, her expression guarded.  “So, if I get some salvia and you show me, I’ll see exactly what Nick described?”

 

“Not everything,” he said carefully.  “Nick was not there when Paige died.  I was.  If you wish to see my memories, I will share them, though I would advise against it.  They are quite ... _raw_.”

 

She looked away, staring at the brick wall on the far side of the room.  She seemed lost in memory.  “Yeah,” she said quietly.  “I probably have enough awful memories of my own without adding yours.”

 

Warden watched her, still marveling at the fact that she was there, but so frustrated by the fact that he couldn’t feel her dreamscape.  It explained why he hadn’t had any response from the golden cord.  It was literally like she did not exist in the aether.

 

“Eliza said you met with Antoinette Carter,” he said.

 

She looked at him for a moment and then let her head fall back against the wall.  She stared up at the dark ceiling.  “We did,” she said.  “Maybe it will help.  It’s a start.  With Nick back - ” she stopped.  She blinked quickly.  “With Nick back, we can make something of this.”  

 

She lifted her head and looked over at him.  “Why did Terebell do this?”

 

Warden opened his mouth to reply and then closed it, shaking his head.  “I do not know,” he answered truthfully.  “She believes that Nick and I are crucial to you winning this war.  And she bent the laws of the aether to make it happen.”

 

She watched him, her expression guarded.  “So this isn’t just something that the Rephaim do?  Pull dead people out of thin air?”

 

“I swear to you,” he said, “I had no idea this was possible.  Terebell said that the amaranth bloom is the only reason she was able to pull us here.  And only because the veils had been destroyed in our world.”

 

Paige nodded, closing her eyes.  “And that’s what the Sargas want to do here,” she said bitterly.  “Destroy the veils.”

 

“We cannot allow that to happen,” Warden said solemnly.  “Not again.  Whatever they were trying to accomplish with the act, it fails.  They doomed our entire world.”

 

There was a knock on the door and Andrej opened it without waiting for a response.  He stepped into the room and stopped, taking in the sight of the Underqueen and Warden sitting together on the mattress.  He didn’t look happy, but he remained silent, handing Paige an icepack.

 

She took it and pressed it against the back of her neck, sighing.

 

“Dani found something,” Andrej said.  “She wants you to take a look.”

 

Paige stared up at him, clearly irritated.

 

“She said you told her to come and find you the second she had something,” Andrej pressed.  He held out a hand to her.

 

Paige removed the icepack from her neck, looking at him.  She frowned, handing it back to him.  Then she took his proffered hand, using her free hand to hold her jumper and water bottle to her chest as she accepted Andrej’s hand up.  Once she was standing, she motioned him to the door impatiently.  He left, though Warden knew he was merely waiting in the hall.

 

Paige walked to the door, her hand on the doorknob.  She turned to face him, her features softer.  “We’ll speak tomorrow,” she said quietly.  She looked down at the floor for a long moment.  “I’m glad you’re here, Warden,” she said.  

 

Without looking at him, she left, closing the door behind herself.

 

END CHAPTER


	7. Seeing

Warden finally managed to sleep, though it was a fitful rest, frequently broken as he instinctively reached out for Paige in the aether and found nothing.  He would wake up just enough to remember that she was alive, to remember the pendant, and then try in vain to sleep.

 

It was just after dawn when he finally gave up trying to rest and ventured down the hallway.  The bathroom was unoccupied, but he glanced around the corner into the study and stopped in his tracks.

 

Liss Rymore stared at him from her spot on the couch.  When she saw him, she lightly jumped to her feet and quickly closed the distance.  She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it, frowning at him.  “Hello,” she said awkwardly.  “I’m Li-”

 

“Liss Rymore,” Warden finished.  “I know.  Or I _knew_ you, in my world.”

 

She nodded seemingly relieved.  “I owed Warden a great debt.  We’re still trying to work out all the differences between your timeline and ours.”  

 

“ _We_?” Warden asked.

 

“Eliza, Julian and me,” she said.  “Though I supposed you and Nick will be the most help.”

 

Warden nodded.  “I helped Liss once.  I would be happy to help you in any way I am able.”

 

She smiled and then seemed to remember herself.  “Oh!  Yes.”  He watched as she went back into the study and grabbed a pile of clothes off the couch.  She held them out to him.  “These are for you.”  She frowned.  “Or, they’re yours, or they were yours.  The other you.”

 

He smiled and nodded.  “Thank you, Liss.”

 

* * *

 

Freshly showered and dressed in clean clothes, Warden went back to his room and left the rest of the clothes.  He turned back toward the study, taking note of the muted voices he could hear behind Nick and Zeke’s door.

 

He looked in the study, which was now empty, but down a short hallway he found a kitchen where Liss and Eliza were sitting at a large, battered table, looking at a set of building schematics.

 

“Good morning,” Eliza said warmly.

 

Warden nodded.  He would need to contact Terebell soon.  Even with her change of heart regarding the Underqueen and his involvement with her, he doubted that Terebell would be pleased with the way he left last night.  Not that he had much of a choice.

 

Andrej burst into the room, his aura flame bright and clear.  Warden sensed it was more his inherent energy level than any emergency which drove his constant activity.  “Where’s Paige?”

 

“Resting,” Liss said darkly, narrowing her eyes at the mollisher.  “Leave her be.”

 

Andrej looked from Liss to Warden and then shook his head in disgust.  “Someone needs to get those crates over to I-5.”

 

Everyone’s attention changed when Nick and Zeke entered the room.  Eliza immediately got up from the table and poured tea for both of them, setting it in front of them as they took seats at the table.  

 

“Hello,” Andrej snapped.  “I-5.  Crates.”

 

“Fucking hell, Andrej,” Eliza cursed.  “Send Tully and Newt.  It’s not rocket science.  You don’t need Paige for that.”

 

“Why don’t we sent ‘im?” Andrej demanded, nodding his head in Warden’s direction.  “We could get some use out of ‘im.  It’s the least he owes Paige.  His fault she’s half dead.”

 

“Don’t be a bloody idiot,” Eliza said, sounding more weary and angry.  “Send Tully and Newt.  And then you need to meet with Wynn.”  Andrej looked like he was going to protest, but Eliza held up her hand.  “Paige can’t do it.  Not today.  It has to be you.”

 

Gritting his teeth, Andrej left.  Warden felt his dreamscape recede.  He had one of those caustic auras that tended to rub people the wrong way.  But even taking that into account, it was clear that Andrej felt a good deal of animosity toward Warden personally.

 

Nick looked at Eliza.  “What’s wrong with Paige, is she sick?  Did something happen last night?”

 

Eliza just stared at the battered tabletop,biting her bottom lip.  

 

“Yeah,” Liss said quietly.  “She’s sick.”

 

Nick pushed himself up from the table.  “Let me see her.  Where is she?”

 

Liss and Eliza looked at each other and then Eliza shrugged.  “C’mon,” Eliza said.  “I’ll take you to her.”

 

Warden watched Nick and Eliza leave, heading out the door on the opposite side of the room, toward the back of the building.  He stared after them until they were out of sight.  Taking a deep breath, he crossed the room and took a seat at the table with Liss and Zeke.

 

“So that’s the new mollisher, eh?” Zeke asked.

 

Liss nodded, frowning.  “Andrej means well,” she said.  “He’s usually a pretty good mollisher.  It’s just ... Paige is getting worse.  We’re trying to keep it quiet, but it’s got everybody on edge.”

 

“He believes me to be responsible,” Warden said evenly.

 

Liss looked up at him and then frowned, shaking her head.  “He’s just angry.  Tryin’ to blow off some steam.  It’s not your fault.  It’s not anybody’s fault.  It just is.  Paige will be fine.  She has to be.”

 

The three of them sat there in silence for long minutes and finally Warden said, “May I see her?”

 

Liss looked at him, obviously unsure of what to say.  He wondered what directions Paige had given on the topic.  And how much Liss would respect them.  Liss finally nodded and stood, bidding him to follow.

 

They walked down hallway after hallway, passing through a large section of the building that appeared to be mostly unused.  They turned a final bend and at the end of the hall Nick and Eliza stood with Julian, speaking in hushed tones.

 

“We need more saline at the least,” Nick said, rubbing his forehead.  “Paracetamol.”

 

“ _Paracetamol_?” Julian said, his frustration clear.  “Isn’t there anything else?  I could have come up with that.  You’re a doctor.”

 

“Yeah,” Nick snapped, scared and frustrated as well.  “We can check her into hospital, but I don’t think that’s going to have a great long term outcome.”  He sighed.  “We’ll start with saline and paracetamol.  Ice packs.  I’ll head downstairs and take a look at the supplies you already have.  Maybe there’s something of use there.”

 

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Julian said dryly.

 

Warden watched mutely as Nick rattled off a laundry list of other items, mostly medical supplies,  he needed Julian to procure.

 

Julian frowned and looked past Nick to Warden.  “It’s my watch.  You’ll keep an eye on her?” he asked.

 

Warden nodded.  He watched Nick, Eliza and Julian all disappear down the hall.  Liss stood there, silent.  She looked up at him.  “You once helped me.  Help her,” she said.  “If you can.”  Quietly, she turned and left.

 

Slowly, Warden pushed open the door to Paige’s room.  It was cold and noisy.  There was a portable air conditioning unit set in one of the corners, with silver insulated ducts fanning out from it.  A lone lamp burned, with a low wattage bulb, on the nightstand next to the bed.  Paige lay on the bed, facing away from him, wearing only a black vest and a cut off pair of worn black trousers.  She lay on a bare sheet, all the covers having been kicked to the foot of the bed.  He could see the sheen of perspiration on her skin. She was burning up.

 

He walked to the bed and stared down at her.  “Paige?”

 

She moved, though she did not roll over or look at him.  

 

“I am at a disadvantage,” he said quietly.  “In the past, I had some sense of your emotions, your physical well being through the golden cord.  But now there is nothing.”

 

She sighed.  “We found them by accident,” she said.  “Dani was looking for a way around senshield.  Stumbled across some classified research.  We didn’t know if it was Scion or the Rephs, but they were close.  Dani just had to make a few tweaks and suddenly, we could be invisible in the aether.”

 

Warden nodded and took a seat on the edge of the bed.  “The pendant you wear,” he said.  “Your new mollisher and his conspirators were wearing similar ones when they found us last night.  It was a rather surreal experience.”

 

“We’ve had them for a while,” she said.  “Months.  I haven’t taken mine off.”

 

Warden just watched her in silence for several long moments.  “How do they work?”

 

“I don’t have a fucking clue,” Paige said.  She rolled over onto her back and looked at him.  He was struck again by how thin she was, her arms looked so frail.  “I just know that they make it so I can’t feel anything in the aether.”  She looked at him, shaking her head, her eyes glassy.  

 

She rolled away from him again, her fingers picking restlessly at some lint on the bare sheet.  “After it became obvious what Nashira was going to do, Terebell came to talk to me.  She refused to go after him.  She wanted me to form a golden cord with another Reph.”  She laughed mirthlessly.  “She said I could pick any of the Ranthen.”  

 

She sighed.  “I told her to go fuck herself.”

 

Warden nodded, having no trouble believing that was what happened between the Underqueen and the Ranthen sovereign.  “Lucida mentioned that you two had a falling out.”

 

“She was afraid that when - “  Paige stopped, swallowing thickly.  “She was afraid that when Warden died, when the golden cord broke, that the amaranth would die.”

 

“But the cord broke,” Warden said.  “And the amaranth still blooms.”

 

Paige rolled onto her back again and looked at him, nodding.  “It does,” she said.  “Because I’m still connected to Warden.  And the only problem with that is that it’s killing me.”

 

He frowned down at her, confused.

 

She looked at him and then blinking quickly, looked away.  She shifted awkwardly on the bed.  She reached down and pulled her vest up so the black material bunched under her breasts, baring her abdomen.  Warden stared down at the rounded swell of her belly without comprehending.  He was struck by the incongruity of the little bump next to her protruding ribs.

 

“I’m pregnant,” she said.  “Six months.  And nobody seems to think I’m going to make it to nine.  Or ten.  I guess it’s ten.  Just another fucking thing they lie about.”

 

Warden just blinked at her, still not understanding.  

 

“It’s yours,” she said.  “Or Warden’s.  My Warden’s.” She stared at him, with an expression of dawning horror.  “Oh shit, did you and your Paige -  Did you even?  Oh hell, you were probably just her keeper.”

 

“No,” Warden said firmly, looking into her eyes, “I was not _just her keeper_.  Paige and I had a relationship, emotional and physical.”  He shook his head.  “But I don’t understand - “

 

Paige took a deep breath.  “So when a boy and a girl really care about each other ...”

 

Warden frowned, giving her a withering look.  “I understand the mechanics of human procreation,” he said.  “I just do not understand how _I_ , how _we_ \- “

 

“Yeah,” Paige said bitterly, “ and yet - “  She held her hands up, framing her rounded belly. “The evidence.”

 

He looked at her, brow furrowed.  “Is there any way that you can remove your pendant, just for a short while?”

 

She stared at him, her eyes big and afraid.  “I haven’t taken it off since the cord broke,” she said quietly.  “The pain - “

 

“I know,” he said, meeting her gaze meaningfully.  “I know.  I felt the cord break in my world as well.  I understand.  But the connection is restored now and your end, from my perspective, is walled off.  I cannot _see_ you.”

 

She nodded, reaching for the pendant.  He watched as she unlooped it from her neck and then gently set it on the nightstand.

 

The second her hand left the pendant, it was like being plunged headlong into the aether.  Paige’s back arched, her eyes dilating.  He instinctively reached for her, placing his hand against her abdomen.  When their skin made contact, he could feel the golden cord rooting deeper inside both their dreamscapes, gaining strength.

 

Paige was gasping, shaking.  Her hand covered his.

 

“Paige,” he said quietly.

 

She nodded, taking a deep breath.  “I’m okay,” she said.  “I’m okay.”

 

She rolled onto her side, tugging at his arm and he lay down behind her, pulling her back against his chest, their fingers intertwined against her abdomen.  Paige was asleep almost immediately, a deep, exhausted rest, a relief.  He felt it too.  It was more than the sensation when he’d first found the golden cord restored.  It was like some missing part of him slotting back into place.

 

They lay there for nearly an hour, dreamscapes mingling, when Warden realized Paige was shivering.  He pulled her closer and then reached for a mound of blankets that had been pushed to the foot of the bed, tucking them around her.  

 

* * *

 

It was maybe an hour later when someone pushed open the door to Paige’s room.  Warden didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.  “It is okay, Nick.  Please come in.”

 

Nick walked around the far side of the bed.  He looked from Paige to Warden and then back to Paige.  “She took off that damned pendant,” he said tightly.  “Thank god.  It was like interacting with a projection.”

 

“Removing the pendant seems to have fully restored my connection to Paige,” Warden said.  He was unsure of how much Nick knew, if anything, about the golden cord.

 

Nick arched an eyebrow as he took a seat on the bed.  He pressed his hand against her forehead.  “Fever’s broken.”

 

“I believe the two are related,” Warden said quietly.

 

“Your connection to Paige and the fever breaking?” Nick asked.

 

“Yes,” Warden said plainly.  

 

“So that’s what Terebell meant?” Nick asked.  “When she said that we were integral to Paige’s safety?”

 

“I do not believe Terebell understood the specifics, but in a round about way, yes.”

 

Nick nodded, looking at the bag of saline he held.  “The fever is really the only thing wrong with her,” he said.  He stopped.  “Aside from - “

 

“The pregnancy,” Warden finished.

 

Nick nodded.  He looked at Warden.  “So you and Paige in our world, you two?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Nick nodded again. “I didn’t know humans and Rephs could have children together.”

 

“Neither did I,” Warden said flatly.

 

Nick’s eyebrow raised again.  “So this isn’t common?”

 

“Not in our world.  Not as far as I know.  I don’t know about this world.”

 

Nick rubbed the back of his neck, staring at nothing.  He finally shrugged.  “I have no idea what complications are possible.  Paige is healthy aside from the fever.  And if that’s gone now because your connection is restored, then she should recover quickly.”  He frowned.  “But the pregnancy is a hell of an unknown.”

 

“Indeed,” Warden said tightly.

 

Nick pushed off the bed.  “She needs rest,” he said.  “Lots of it.  And water.  When she wakes, try and get her to take as much as she can.  She’ll need to eat too.”

 

Warden nodded.  

 

Nick stopped at the door.  “I’ll try and keep the rabble away.”

 

END CHAPTER


	8. Chapter 8

When Paige woke, it felt like she was returning from a particularly long session in the aether.  Like she was clawing her way back toward herself, and actually finding herself.  Her sleep had been long and blessedly dreamless.  Without the pendant blunting her perception of the aether, she felt clearer than she had in months.  And much to her own surprise, not nearly as raw.

 

She was immediately aware that her fever was gone.  She no longer felt that she was burning up from the inside out.  In fact, she was a bit chilled.  The tempting warmth of Warden’s large form pressed against her back.  She lay there, quiet, blinking into the dim light.  

 

She felt like herself, whatever that meant.  The way she hadn’t felt in months.  And yet, she knew it was all based on a lie.  It wasn’t _her_ Warden at her back.  This was another Reph, pulled out of another current in the aether by Terebell for reasons that still weren’t clear to Paige.  She was connected to this newcomer, that much was undeniable.  But Paige had no idea what any of it meant.

 

Warden - she couldn’t think of him as anything else - finally broke the stillness by sitting up and reaching for a bottle of water on the nightstand.  “Nick left this for you,” he said gently.  “Along with instructions that you should drink it.”

 

Paige rolled onto her back and looked at him.  In the dim light, the only thing she could see clearly was the faint light of his irises.  She suspected there were few people, aside from herself, who would have found that comforting.  But even the comfort it brought felt like a betrayal.  

 

She took the bottle of water, propping herself up on one elbow and taking a long drink.  Physically, she didn’t feel fantastic, but she still felt so much better than she had in months.  She also felt exceptionally gross.  “I need a shower,” she said, pushing herself into a sitting position. _And space_.  She definitely needed space.

 

Warden moved out of the way, distant enough to be respectful, but close enough to offer assistance if she needed it.  Thankfully, she didn’t.  She climbed out of bed and grabbed a clean set of clothes out of her chest of drawers.  Without looking at Warden, she headed for the attached bathroom, taking the bottle of water with her.

 

Paige turned on the light and locked the door, staring at her reflection in the water spotted mirror.  She felt like she was staring at a stranger.  She looked awful, with deep purple hollows beneath her eyes and cheekbones that pressed against her sickly pale skin.  But at least she wasn’t covered in her perpetual sheen of sweat.  And her eyes looked clearer.

 

She turned on the water and undressed as she waited for it to warm.  She stared down at the jut of her belly and then looked away.  She wasn’t ready to deal with this.  She didn’t think she would ever be ready to deal with this.

 

***

 

Showered and changed, Paige stepped back into her bedroom.  Warden had turned off the portable airconditioner and the room seemed eerily quiet, though thankfully warmer.  Paige stood there, feeling out of sorts.  

 

She was wearing normal clothes for the first time in what felt like forever.  She had lost so much weight in the last couple of months that despite her growing belly, her trousers still fit, though not very comfortably.  The shirt was likewise ill fitting, both gaping and snug in places it hadn’t previously been.  But at least she was no longer relegated to vests and cut off trousers to keep from overheating.

 

More as nervous habit than anything else, she ran her fingers through her short locks.  The haircut had seemed necessary a couple of months ago.  She wanted to be done with the black dye, a holdover from her time as Jaxon Hall’s mollisher.  Also, she had simply been too hot to wear her hair long.  And maybe there had been a bit more to it than just those concerns.  Maybe she had wanted to do something drastic out of grief.  Though with Nick and Warden back in her life, that seemed ... overwrought.  The haircut had made her feel fierce when she first cut it.  Now she just felt bare, exposed.

 

Forcing her hands to her sides, she looked at Warden.  He stood in the middle of the room, waiting.  She was so reminded of her time in Sheol I, the awkward push and pull of her relationship with him.  

 

Only that hadn’t been _him_ in Sheol I.

 

“Are you hungry?” Warden asked.  “Nick said you should try and eat.”

 

Her first response was to refuse, but she stopped.  Actually, she was hungry.  She nodded.  “I am.”

 

Together, they walked toward the kitchen.  Once again, he was close without crowding her.  He didn’t attempt to engage her in conversation, for which she was relieved.  She could feel him through the golden cord, but it was little more than an added awareness of his presence.  Whatever his emotions were, he had them on a tight rein.

 

The rest of the voyants in the complex, however, weren’t so bottled up.  Paige felt almost assaulted, overwhelmed with the sheer volume of auras she could sense.  After so long in her self-imposed seclusion, it was intensely uncomfortable.

 

As she entered the kitchen, Nick immediately stood and crossed the room toward her.  Eliza and Liss both glanced over her with critical eyes, but neither of them rose to stand.  Paige took that as a good sign.  She must not look too terrible.

 

“You need to eat,” Nick said, studying her intently.

 

She forced a smile.  “That’s why I’m here.”

 

She saw Nick glance past her at Warden, though she didn’t turn to see what, if any, response Warden gave Nick.  According to Eliza, for the last five months, Warden and Nick had been constant companions.  Given what Paige had seen of their interactions, she found that scenario incredibly hard to imagine.  Whenever she had seen them together, they always seemed to be just on the verge of open hostilities.

 

“You sit,” Nick said.  “I’ll get something.”

 

Paige moved to the table and took a seat with her back to the wall.  Eliza and Liss were looking through Scion schematics at the other end of the table, most likely for one of the new penal colonies.  Dani had managed to steal the files several weeks earlier, but there were parts of the files that made no sense.  And since Paige’s falling out with Terebell, there had been no Rephaite to ask for insight.  Until now.

 

“Warden?” Liss asked, looking up at him.

 

Warden turned toward Liss, attentive.  Paige watched as Liss and Eliza showed the schematics to Warden.  He took a seat at the table, opposite Paige and studied the printouts.  

 

Nick set a bowl of lentil soup in front of Paige.  Tentatively, she lifted the spoon to her lips, waiting for the inevitable nausea that always accompanied eating.  But there was none.  The soup tasted good and Paige was suddenly aware of just how famished she was.

 

Paige looked up as Andrej burst into the room.  His eyes seemed to fixate on her and she pointed to an empty chair at the head of the table, directly to her right.  He slid into the seat and Paige ground her teeth together at the sensation of his dreamscape so close.  He was intense.  And more than a little caustic.  “Did you deliver the message to Antoinette?” she asked.

 

Andrej nodded.  “She says you’ll have an answer before she leaves.”

 

Paige nodded and took another spoonful of soup.  

 

“What about Jacob’s Island?” Andrej pressed.  “You want me to talk to Wynn?”

 

“No,” Paige said firmly, that was really the only way to deal with Andrej.  He would exploit the tiniest bit of gray area.  She looked up at Nick who was standing in the middle of the room, just watching the various interactions.  “I was going to ask Nick if he would talk to Wynn.”

 

Nick’s eyebrows raised, but he nodded.  “Of course.”

 

Paige didn’t bother looking at Andrej, but she could feel him bristle in the aether.  She bit back the sigh that threatened to escape.  Andrej was good.  He had a hell of a lot of potential.  But in the perfect world, she wouldn’t have made him a mollisher.  He had been the best choice out of a pool of bad choices, and necessary to keep the Mime Order from descending into chaos.  She just hoped she could find a way to curb his duties without alienating  him.  They could not afford to have disgruntled conspirators on the loose.

 

At the other end of the table, Warden, Liss and Eliza finished their discussion and Eliza rolled up the schematics.  “I will find out what I can from the Ranthen,” Warden promised.

 

Paige looked at him.  “Have you communicated with Terebell since we ... invited you to visit?”

 

Warden’s face betrayed no expression.  “No,” he said.  “I have not.  I will need to contact her soon.”

 

Paige doubted that anybody else picked up on it, but she knew very well how much Warden wasn’t looking forward to contacting his sovereign.  Not that Paige blamed him.  Willingly contacting Terebell ranked up there with elective surgery for Paige.

 

“You can’t seriously be considering letting him go back to the Rephaim,” Andrej spat.

 

Before Paige had even finished turning to look at Andrej, her spirit had surged forward, pressing at his dreamscape in clear warning.  Paige blinked quickly.  She hadn’t really meant to do that.  She was out of practice.  But she didn’t want Andrej to know she’d lost control.

 

Andrej nodded mutely, chastised, his hand dabbing up at the thin trickle of blood dribbling from his nose.

 

“C’mon Drej,” Liss said, rising to her feet and grabbing Andrej’s shoulder.  “Let’s find something for that.”

 

Paige finished her soup and Nick sat down in the seat Andrej had vacated.  Nick looked at Warden.  “Can you do a seance, or does it need to be face to face?”

 

“A seance will have to do for now,” Warden said.

 

Paige watched him closely.  So he had no intention of returning to the Ranthen, at least not today.  “What are you going to tell her?”

 

“As little as possible,” Warden replied, meeting her gaze.

 

Paige looked away.  “There are seance supplies in the library.”

 

“Thank you,” Warden said.

 

* * *

 

Paige thought back to the time when she’d kept Warden holed up in the doss house, after she rescued him from the Camden catacombs.  He hadn’t been in a hurry to make contact with the Ranthen then either.  He’d put it off for a day, wanting time alone with her, time to recuperate before he once again immersed himself in the war with the Sargas.  

 

But, of course, none of that had actually occurred.  Not between her and the Warden who was currently headed to the library to conduct a seance.  She had known that particular Warden for less than twenty-four hours and their interactions consisted mostly of sleeping next to one another.

 

Paige pushed open the door to her bedroom and crossed the room, sitting down on the bed.  She looked at the rumpled sheets.  They slept next to one another.  Except that he hadn’t slept.  She knew he hadn’t.  He laid there, perfectly still, for several hours while she slept, keeping her warm, guarding her as unobtrusively as possible.  

 

She could feel Warden, even as far away as he was right now, she could feel him.  Both in the aether, as part of her gift as a dreamwalker, and also through the golden cord.  Being Rephaite, he didn’t emote much, even when she had a direct bond to his dreamscape.  But he was there and she could sense his steadfastness, the unshakeable support he offered.  Unconsciously, her palm pressed against the gentle swell of her belly.  What the fuck were she and this stranger going to do?

 

She looked up as Nick entered the room, closing the door behind himself.  She knew from the grim set of his jaw that this was Dr. Nygard, rather than Nick.  And there was no doubt that she was the patient.  

 

Nick assessed her thoroughly, frowning the entire time.  Paige was certain her prognosis was considerably less dire than it had been a few short hours ago.  “I don’t understand, sötnos,” he said tightly.  “You were on your way to death’s door this morning.  All you did was take off that pendant and now you’re miraculously healed.”

 

“It’s not the pendant,” Paige assured him, though she was secretly inclined to agree that walling one’s self off from the aether for months on end wasn’t good for voyant constitutions.  “It’s my connection to Warden.”

 

Nick looked pointedly at her stomach.  

 

“Not _that_ connection,” Paige said sighing.  “We’re bound to one another.  Our dreamscapes.”

 

“Since when?” Nick asked, looking pained.

 

Paige winced.  “Since Sheol I.”  Watching Nick’s face fall was like twisting a knife in her own heart.  She has missed him so desperately, mourned him so deeply, and through some unrequested miracle, he was back.  The last thing she wanted to do was explain how much she’d left out of her recounting of her time in the penal colony.

 

“Paige,” Nick said carefully, as if he could barely bring himself to consider the subject, “if there’s anything you want to tell me, I don’t want you to be ashamed.  Nothing that happened in that place was your fault.”

 

Paige just stared at him.  She shook her head, feeling her cheeks flame.  “The only shame in any of my connections to Warden is in my being an idiot,” she said bitterly.  “In not having the sense to prevent a pregnancy.”  She sighed.  “Trust me, our bond from Sheol I didn’t have anything to do with a physical relationship.  I don’t think it’s possible for the bond to be compelled.  Its creation was rooted in our freely saving one another, multiple times.”

 

Nick didn’t look completely convinced, but he let it drop.  “And so this connection you two share, it’s responsible for your recovery?”

 

“That’s my guess,” Paige said wearily.  It was all conjecture at best.  “In the past, we’ve used the connection to share information. It’s how I found Warden when he was being held prisoner in Camden.  It’s how he found us when we were attacked by the Emite in the park”  She sighed, omitting the part where even despite the pendant, it was how she had known that both Nick and Warden were back.  “I don’t know how it works.  Warden told me, when it was first formed, that he thought I might be able to use the connection to draw power from him.”

 

“Or maybe for him to siphon it from you?” Nick asked.

 

Paige shrugged.  “Maybe.  All I know is that for the first time in months, I’m not running a fever.  Honestly, I don’t really care how it works, so long as it does.”

 

Nick was quiet for a long time.  She could almost feel the tension inside him, the respect for her autonomy, and possibly Warden’s.  But she could also sense his concern, deeply rooted in true affection.  “And everything else?” he asked.  “How do you feel about Warden being back?”

 

Paige ducked her head and looked away.  She didn’t know how she felt.  And she didn’t want to explore it.  “He’s a stranger,” she said quietly.  “I’d never met him before yesterday.”

 

“The same could be said of me,” Nick replied gently.

 

Paige’s head snapped to him.  

 

His expression was soft, neutral.  He smiled sadly.  “Do you inherently distrust me as much as you distrust him?” he asked.  It was clearly a rhetorical question.  He knew she didn’t distrust him.  He knew she didn’t draw an imaginary line between him and her Nick.  They were one and the same.

 

“It’s different,” Paige finally said, fully aware of how inadequate her response was.

 

“I know,” Nick said quietly.  “You were never in love with me.  I’m safe.”

 

She stared at him, her jaw dropping.  “How can you - “

 

Nick grasped her hand.  “I didn’t say you don’t love me,” he said earnestly.  “I know you do.  And I love you.”  He reached out and cupped her cheek gently.  “But you’re not _in_ love with me, sötnos.  You’ve never been in love with me.  You chose me as an outlet for your affection because I was safe.  Because you knew, on some level, that I could never reciprocate.  Which meant you didn’t have to truly risk your heart.”

 

Paige blinked quickly and looked away.  She wanted to argue.  She wanted to rage.  Her pain, the night he told her he cared for Zeke, had destroyed her.  Except that ... it hadn’t.  Even in the face of her pain, her embarrassment, there was never a moment where she felt that she lost Nick that night.  She’d always known her connection to Nick transcended any romantic notion.  

 

After Nick’s death, Paige mourned him, profoundly.  But the tenor of that pain had been so different from what she’d felt when she lost Warden.  Not _less_ , not _softer_ , but different.  The difference between loving and being in love?  Maybe.  She wasn’t sold on the idea.  Both of their losses had destroyed part of her, just in different ways.  She’d had regrets about her relationship with Warden.  Her regrets over Nick had been so different.  She had never once regretted that she hadn’t opened herself up enough to Nick.

 

“I didn’t trust Warden,” Nick said, loosely holding her hands in his own.  “Not for a long time.  I blamed him.  I blamed him for - “  He looked at her and then away again.  “I blamed him for everything, for all the horrors visited upon us by the Rephaim and Scion.  And then the veils were destroyed and ...”  He blinked back tears.  “We lost _everything_ , Paige.   _Everyone_.  Everyone I ever knew was dead.  Every place I’d ever known was razed to the ground.  But Warden remained.”  He took a deep breath.  “I think there was a time, a time when he could have gone, when he could have been with ...”  He shook his head and cleared his throat.  “He promised Paige he would watch over me and he did.  For months.  At the cost of ever reaching a final rest.  It was just the two of us wandering through that hell.”

 

Paige twined her fingers through Nick’s, holding him tightly.  She’d had her own horrors, the horror of losing her Nick, her Warden, every last bit of her life before the Bone Season.  But she hadn’t lost the entire world.  She truly couldn’t imagine the horrors they had witnessed.

 

Nick’s eyes locked with hers.  “I never understood what you saw in him.  I never trusted him.  But after all of those months together I - “  He searched for the words and came up short, sighing.  “He was always there.  Always.  Watching a Rephaite grieve is ... surreal.”

 

Paige had to look away.  She lost her Warden, but he lost his Paige.  She really didn’t want to know how that had affected him.  She didn’t want to know what his regrets had been.  Or how he coped after the golden cord had snapped.  Or how he felt about her now, about this new mess they found themselves in.

 

“I know you’re not my Paige,” Nick said sadly.

 

She looked at him, her eyes welling with tears.

 

“But I love you,” he said.  “I will always love you, no matter what.  And I thank the aether that we were given this second chance.”  She knew, without asking, that he was thinking of Zeke.  “Don’t waste it because of fear, Paige.  Life’s too precious.”

 

She threw herself at him, holding him tightly.  His hand came up to cradle the back of her head.  She eventually pulled back far enough to look at him.  

  
“I know we’re different, sötnos,” he said,  “but we are also the same.”

 

END CHAPTER


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